The Little Differences
by onlyfrequency
Summary: It wasn't that he hated Il Forte. Far from it, in truth. He simply didn't care at all.


**Disclaimer;** I don't own Bleach, 'nuff said.

And I think I need to not write about characters that aren't even listed. :/ Poor Szayel

* * *

It wasn't that he hated Il Forte. Far from it, in truth. 

He simply didn't care at all.

What connection they shared was limited to looks and name alone.

Il Forte saw benefits in following strength, Szayel-Aporro in mental capacity.

Il Forte saw no issues with lying with the numeros and Privaron, Szayel-Aporro rarely glanced at anything but his books.

Il Forte deferred to others as well as Aizen. Szayel-Aporro saw to it that Aizen was the only one he needed to really bow to.

So when Grimmjow stared at him from across the room, glaring, the Octava was able to shrug it off. He knew, as so many of the numeros and indeed some Privaron did too, that the (previous) Sexta saw traces of his older brother. But Szayel-Aporro had never considered them alike for anything but name.

Il Forte was trash. Unable to rise above his standing as a numero. A member of the (previous, he amended again) Sexta Espada's Fracción, but as Szayel-Aporro had proven, Fracción didn't have to be all that special, didn't need to be arrancar in the first place. They just needed to serve, and serve his did.

Il Forte liked to be loud, brash. To the point and rude, arrogant. Szayel-Aporro prefered sarcasm, snide words and quietness. His arrogance carried a different air than Il Forte's, for while the elder liked to show off by his strength, the younger allowed his tactics to prove his words.

They were in no way similar beyond base ties, a few things that required much overthinking, and that was why Szayel-Aporro barely even considered him closer family than the rest of the arrancar.

Szayel-Aporro was, in no way, Il Forte. Il Forte had never been Szayel-Aporro. Even within the confines of Los Noches, they interacted only as much as they needed to. Il Forte playing fetch boy, mostly.

And that was why the Octava ignored the latest fetch boy, probably a numero coerced by Grimmjow at the last second, sent to retrieve a report or some such. His own fault for taking his whole Fracción to be killed and subsequently being demoted, really. He also ignored the fearful glance said fetch boy was giving the bodies laid out before the Espada.

He was deep in thought, reiatsu bugs already reclaimed, just _watching_. Di Roy. Nakim. Il Forte. Shawlong. Edorad. Unmoving. Defeated. _Trash_.

"Trash."

The fetch boy jumped. "Y-yes sir?"

The Octava shot him a sideways glance, as if finally noticing him, and repeated that one word again. "Trash." His voice was calm. Cold. Aloof. Unaffected, patient, like a spider web being strung about the room. _His_ room, his lab, his tables the bodies were on. Such duties always fell to him. He liked such duties, saw to it that he was allowed the chances to assist in such manners.

The fetch boy was staring at him.

With a sigh he turned fully, pointed to the fetch boy. "You. Trash, but alive and thusly still useful. Them. Trash. The worst kind, because they proved it by getting killed." Szayel-Aporro shrugged, hand dropping to the hilt of his zanpakuto, causing the fetch boy to jump again. Really now. It was pathetic what he could do with a look and a hand movement. "What did you come here for?"

"U- I have a report from the Sexta Espada, sir. The one you requested."

Luppi's bitch. It figured from the jumpy nature. Szayel-Aporro really didn't want to ask what he did in his free time that made them such. "Leave it on the table," he muttered, waving aimlessly towards a free examination table as he returned his attention to the useless numeros before him. Watching.

"Sir." Report handed over, the fetch boy turned to leave. But he couldn't help but turn back, slightly confused. How did the Octava hope to learn anything by just looking at the bodies?

As if sensing this unspoken question, the Espada tilted his head back, eyes flickering to the one now titled 'Luppi's bitch'. "I suppose, if you want to watch-" to which his eyes grew dark for a split second before he wasn't even there anymore, sonido carrying him to the Quince. "I can make an allowance." The fetch boy hadn't even noticed the unsheathed zanpakuto, was only vaguely aware of the sound of steel cutting air. But he was very aware of the message the Octava was giving him, the Espada's sword actually having sliced through the cold metal surface as it pinned Il Forte to the table. Trying hard to not shake at the pure nothingness that was reflected in the Espada's expression, the fetch boy simply nodded, and hastily bowed, exiting the room as quickly as he could.

He cracked a grin at that, the others and their Fracción so easy to worry with the slightest smirk or lack thereof. His own were much more used to his moods, his subtleties in nature. He had made them to be that way, after all. Speaking of-

So faithful. He smiled, left the small arrancar to clean up the drips of blood leaking onto his floor, leaving the zanpakuto buried in his brother's shoulder. Let the rest of his visitors see it if they so wished.

It was better than he deserved, but a brother could give him that much at the end.

Because as soon as the bodies were gone, Szayel-Aporro would go right back to not caring one bit, and the least he could do whilst he had his brothers undivided attention was grant him a similar end he gave the contender for his seat as Espada.

Il Forte wouldn't be intact for very long.

Szayel-Aporro wouldn't be quiet for much longer.

And Lumina and Verona were so looking forward to playing with an arm or two for a few hours.


End file.
